


The Hunters

by ShipItLikeGayFedX



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add tags as I add to the story, Lies, M/M, Multi, Mutants, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Secret Government!AU, Secrets, a lot of swearing, also angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6989422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipItLikeGayFedX/pseuds/ShipItLikeGayFedX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A select few people in the world gained mutated powers. Some of them made friends with the government, and some made enemies with it. Others made their own governments in a way. A top-secret international branch, Achievement Hunter, was formed. It was so secret, so important to hide, that not even the governments know about it. </p><p>Achievement Hunter calls the people they hunt "achievements", because they're all one step closer to figuring out the mutant situation each time they find one. </p><p>The beginning of its expanse was Gavin and Ryan, two incredibly talented people with more in common than they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Time For Goodbye

13:03, May 5th, 2007  
Gavin and Michael's home

His alarm didn't go off; it was their day off. He slept in until one. The other man must've woken up much earlier.

He woke up first to find the bed colder and one hundred percent emptier. It wasn't that out of place; he often times slept in later than the other man. But it was always sad to wake up to an empty bed. He loved waking up in his arms, and he was sure the few friends they had who shipped "mavin" would love it, too. But no one could love his boi as much he did.

The next thing he noticed was the room. Something was off. It seemed more spacious, more empty. The mess around was noticeably lessened, and the smell of breakfast hit his nose.

That was the third thing. Breakfast. He would wake up to breakfast on some days, but usually at the expense of waking up to shouting at the bacon for being so difficult to cook or eggs for breaking too easily, or something else along those lines. But there was no noise that he heard. There was just barely warm bacon and bread ready to be toasted in the toaster. Odd.

He thought he must have just gone out for groceries. He didn't bother looking around the house for his boi; he was tired and the red flags didn't seem so 'red flag' in the moment.

The fourth thing he noticed was the box on the table. How he didn't notice while he was eating, he had no idea. But he knew this box; his boi told him to never open it unless he was gone. He wasn't going to just open it now because it was suddenly on the table instead of in that locked drawer he never let him see in. He only caught a glimpse of his boi putting it in there one day, to which the words "never open this unless something happens to me or until I tell you to" were etched into his brain.

Picking up the box, he decided to look around the house. He was curious as to why the box was suddenly out in the open, and to why the box felt so odd. Looking for his boi, he walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Not there.

The bathrooms. Not there. The basement. Not there.

He wasn't in the house. _Store it is, then._

He heard the trunk of a car close. He decided his store theory was right. Determined to help his boi, he went outside to gather groceries only to find a different, curious sight. The fifth thing he noticed. His boi wasn't holding groceries, but rather wearing two of his shirts, a beanie, and a clean shaven face.

The sixth thing. The clean shaven face and the beanie. He decided a couple months ago to grow a beard. He looked so different, and it got so normal of a sight on him that he almost didn't recognise him with it all gone, not to mention with a beanie now added. He almost forgot that hairless, young face.

His curiosity got the best of him. "What's going on?" He was hesitant to ask, unsure what words to say while speaking. His confusion was increased by his freshly awoken mind, but it was still a confusing sight to see to anyone in his position.

Slowly, the other man turned around, and he dropped his hand from reaching for the door handle.

He didn't speak for what seemed like an excruciating hour of confused silence, which was only a few seconds in reality.

He glanced at the car and back at him. "Um, I-"

He walked a step closer to the man next to the car.

"Where are you going?" The seventh thing he noticed. His body language was so different, even before he knew he was there. He looked nervous and in some strange, frightened anticipation for something he almost didn't want to know.

"Please..." He whispered to him. "Don't ask." His eyes didn't have the same happy puppy look in them. Instead, they looked pained and old, almost as if they belonged to a man much more ancient than a happy soul who wasn't even in his thirties yet.

Those eyes, those words. They bored into his spirit. He _hated_ the feeling he was experiencing now.

"Are..." His voice cracked. "Are you..." He waited for an answer. He didn't want to finish the thought. He hoped he would just complete it for him and everything would be okay and these sad eyes could be fixed and these broken voices could be glued back together. But he never finished the sentence for him, and so he had to do it himself. "Are you leaving me?.." His voice was shrunken and quiet, and all he hoped for was a denial. He just wanted him to speak, to tell him he was wrong, that it was such a stupid thing to ask and of course he wouldn't ever leave him. But he never said anything. The only reply he got was a man too ashamed to look at him and sad eyes becoming regretful eyes closing at the pain of looking at the hurt man any longer.

With no response, he could only continue his words. "Why?"

Even 'why', a single, monosyllabic word, was almost too difficult to voice.

But at least he got another voice in return. What seemed equally pained were the words from the man he loved. "I made a mistake. It apparently runs in my family," he sighed, still looking at the concrete, incapable of enduring the pain of looking at the man he loves. "But it's without a doubt _I_ was the biggest mistake of the two."

He could barely handle hearing these words already, and he hadn't even gotten an explanation yet. He hated it when he said such self degrading things. He never believed he was a mistake, and he wasn't even thinking it now.

"What mistake," he found himself asking. He didn't quite find the strength to argue with him on being a mistake himself, and only mustered up the strength to shake his head at the thought. He just needed to know what was happening.

"I... I can't-" he tried to finish, but he wouldn't let him.

"Yes, you _can_ tell me. I'm your boyfriend, for Christ's sake!" He found himself getting angry. He never truly got angry at the other man, and he wanted to keep it that way. "Or, I guess I _was_ ," he said, quieter, watching as the man's face contorted into something that resembled pain and regret, and something like he was fighting back tears. "I think I deserve a proper explanation as to why I'm about to lose the best thing I've ever had in my _entire_ life." His voice was fighting just as hard as his eyes were to keep normal.

It seemed to make sense to him. The eighth thing he noticed: a glance up towards the man and to the sides of him and a shift in his stance. "I can't go into detail," he began. He just wanted to know. "But I did some things I'm not proud of. I did some things and some people liked it better than they did some other people, and... " He shook his head and transitioned into another part of the same explanation. "Something bad happened, and it's my fault. I hurt someone and I made someone angry, and they're coming for me. I can't let you get hurt any more because of me," he explained.

He didn't know if he believed him. He knew he had to do some less-than-legal things in the past, and that was actually how they met, but he was almost certain he never went back to that life. After they both got a job, Michael as an electrician and Gavin with some sort of science thing (and with a background that wasn't completely accurate), he thought they both were on the right track. He was never much of a criminal himself, but he knew he'd never have to be one at _all_ after they got together and got the job.

He had to be lying, but at the same time, why would he? To spare his feelings, maybe? But he could have come up with _some_ excuse that made more sense if that were the case.

He didn't know what to say, what to do. The box he was holding felt like it gained two tonnes and he felt as if he could barely hold _himself_ up, yet alone the box. But he continued to hold it.

After an agonising minute of deathly silence, he found his voice enough to catch his wandering thoughts and voice one of them. "Why did you leave the box out on the table?"

He sighed. "I hoped I'd be gone by the time you woke up," his words were a painting with a canvas of pain and a preferred paint of regret, creating only a concoction of hurt for the man to whom it was created for.

His voice was shaking and his face felt hot and chills ran down his body. "You weren't even going to say _goodbye?_ "

He glanced at the box and then a new sort of demeanour took over. "There's no time for goodbye," he said and the innocence he held onto until this moment faded away. He pushed himself to move to the car door. "It's all in the box."

He found himself looking back at the box. His name was beautifully written in those curly letters and the box itself was a dark blue with paint on top of it; white and yellow and black wisps trailing down the sides of it and resting, dried for years on the top. He found it bittersweet; it was beautiful -a masterpiece, really-, but he only got to see it after all of this mess.

He looked away from the box and back at the man opening the door to the car. "I don't want this stupid box; I want you to tell me what's happening. What'd you do?"

He stopped getting in the car once more, and he turned with a mask on his emotions. "I can't tell you. All I can do is give you advice," he began. "Don't put your life in someone else's hands because they have the ability to do whatever they like with it, and they can steal it away in a moments notice." He wondered what he did to cause him to say these words. He imagined that even if he did do something wrong, a larger part of why this was happening must have been someone else's fault. Someone he trusted must have done something to him that created these words to be spoken at this moment. "And don't hide your mistakes." He said that last one with a sort of pain that made him feel like he was the one hurting him.

"Why?" He didn't know what part he was asking why to, but he answered it for him.

"Because they'll find you and they'll burn you." He sighed and got in the car, and added "and everyone around you."

He still wished he knew what he did.

"Why are you leaving?" He wasn't good at using his words at the moment.

"I already told you-"

He didn't mean it like that this time, however. "No. I mean, why not just stay or take me with you?"

He hadn't closed the door yet, but he sat in the driver's seat. "I can't have you getting hurt!"

He pushed his lips together in a frown. "I can't have you getting hurt, either."

He tried to close the door, but he stopped the swing before he could with one hand and the other hand still holding onto the blue box.

"It's too late for that," his voice sounded deep and broken, but without a crack or a squeak or waver. "I need to go. I need to minimise the amount of people who get hurt."

He wasn't having it. "Why would you leave me before saying goodbye?"

He raised his voice. Not to yell at him, or to make him feel upset, but more of a way to keep his voice stay as little broken as possible. "Because I know you! If we said goodbye, you'd find a way to persuade me to take you with me! I can't take you to this other world with me where everyone either hurts people or gets hurt. This, right here, hurts too much. I can't watch as you go through ten times the pain."

He realised right here that he never stopped being a criminal. Maybe he wanted to, maybe he was forced, but he knew this all too well. He realised that he was speaking from experience. He realised that he knows there's pain there because he must have been through it.

"You've protected me before and you can do it again. You can teach me to protect myself." He walked over to the other side of the car and opened the door. "What you _can't_ do is leave me here, Gavin."

He froze. The personal feeling of hearing his name made him realise what was going on. He wasn't being manipulated by a criminal, but begged by his boyfriend. He thought for a moment what to do, but he was right. He couldn't have his boi get hurt, but he'd know how to protect him. But he still didn't want to risk it.

"I can lose my happiness to protect it. You _can't_ lose _your_ happiness, Michael. You can't lose this wonderful life you have," he tried.

He sighed and shook his head. " _You_ are the reason I have a wonderful life. And, in all honesty, we're not important to the _this_ lifestyle much at _all,_ and we're just two guys. Who gives a damn if we 'have an emergency' and disappear?" He sat in the car, well aware that his boi wouldn't push him out. "Besides, I'd say that, if anything, nothing and nobody could lose _you._ But I can tell you're so set on this that it wouldn't make much a difference whether or not there's only you or both of us that's missing."

He hated the fact he was right, at least a little. They sat there for at least five minutes just thinking and hoping.

It was too dangerous to take him with him. One wrong move almost got _him_ killed, and now they're doubling the chances of getting killed in a way. Michael wasn't a criminal. Sure, he vandalised as a kid and stole some little things, but he never killed a man or performed a heist, or anything else high-profile. He'd never get arrested for the things he did when he was kid, whereas the other man would no doubt get fifteen life sentences if he could.

It was too dangerous. But he was right.

"Fine."

He didn't expect to hear the word come out of his mouth so easily. He almost started to argue before realising he was _agreeing._

"What?" He was dumbfounded. He was almost certain he'd give in, but not so quickly and with so little a fight.

He shook his head and began to leave the car. "I know you," he repeated his earlier sentence. "If we said goodbye, it'd be one of the last ones we'd ever say."

He was confused again. He understood what he was saying, but not what he was doing. "Where are you going, now?"

He made his way up to the front door of their house, before pausing at the step right in front of it. "Two people need more than what I've packed," he explained. His voice was a mix between excitement and dread. "We need to get what's important for the both of us."

Michael agreed. He sat the box in the back of the car and followed closely behind, catching up with a short sprint to the inside of the house.

In the middle of gathering the essentials -food, money, clothes, and anything that can aid with 'becoming someone else' and refraining from using personal identity-, Michael realised that Gavin must have known this would happen. He learned to drive, earned a lot of money, gathered skills and objects that made him seem less like Gavin in a blink of an eye, and even asked what his company policy for quitting was. It didn't matter much, but he wanted to know if he would be doing something wrong if he didn't give a two week's notice. Not that he could do that, now.

He didn't find it that important to ask at the moment, but he felt he needed to break the silence they've now accumulated. "Did you ever stop?"

Gavin turned around from looking over the small amount of stuff he grabbed. "Sorry?"

Michael sat the Ziploc bag full of money in the bottom of his sack and stopped loading more into it to re-word the question. "Being a criminal. Did you ever stop?" He didn't mean to sound rude if he did, and he couldn't tell if Gavin found it rude by his facial expression.

Gavin sat down the bag he was holding, as if he remembered something he kept locked away for a while. He looked down, remembering those times before playing it off and crouching down to grab something small from the bottom of the closet that Michael couldn't see.

Michael was about to apologise for asking when he replied. "Yeah, once I came to America. I wasn't a criminal for twelve years of my life. Eleven were from before I ever started, and one from after I met you." He paused for a moment to think of it. "I wish I could have kept it that way. It was-" he trailed off, closing his eyes and remembering the happy moments he experienced in such a short amount of time. He didn't notice Michael had moved from his spot until after he felt his arms wrap around him and pull him into a tight hug.

Instinctively, he hugged him back. He mentally shamed himself for being so willing to throw this man away, and for what? The _possibility_ of them actually getting found and hurt? He didn't shame himself for worrying, but for not even saying goodbye.

"Are you okay, boi?" They had been hugging for a whole minute before either broke the silence.

"Yeah," he confirmed, pulling away. He patted his pocket subconsciously, and changed the topic. "Do we have everything?"

Michael glanced around and checked off everything he needed in his mind. He couldn't think of anything they were forgetting, so he told him just that.

Gavin nodded and closed the closet door. "Then we need to go." Michael nodded and as they left the room, they both stopped in the doorway to look at the room one last time. _Maybe one day we can come back_ , Gavin thought to himself, and they finally left.

 


	2. A Literal Vagabond

_14:56, May 1st, 2016_  
_The TE Hotel_

_Blending in was easy, routine. Pretending to be someone he wasn't? Simple. Elementary. He'd done for years, and a short break isn't going to eliminate every instinct he had. It's like riding a bike; you don't just forget how to be a criminal. Albeit, in this case, more of a vigilante._

_Solo work wasn't hard, either. He'd done it many times before, and his expertise typically can only be applied to protecting himself. Working with someone else was never his strong suit, but after doing it for years, he grew to get used to that, as well. But he was back to solo work, or as close as he could get. It was instinct, but unlike his others, it still hurt to go back to what was normal._

_It had been a while since he lost him. Sometimes it felt like spending all that time together after he first made the decision to leave was a waste. Sometimes he cursed himself for not leaving before this all happened. Other times, he'd cherish the extra memories he managed to claim. All the time, he wished he could change it. He wished he could give him a reason to stay, a reason to not go that day. If not that, just anything. Something._

_He missed the counterpart to his silence. But he'd have to live on knowing he won't be working with the man who mastered criminal activity so quickly. It'll be just him and his 'character'. He should be used to it by now._

_Waiting in room for his contact, he had nothing more to do than to think and think and think about him. **For Christ's sake, it's my fault.** The lack of his snarky, loud words shouted in his ear brought more pain than it did to his ear when they **were** there._

_**Say something stupid, please. Say anything.** He'd be lost in his thoughts if he wasn't as aware as he was._

_"Mister Headquarters is at it again. I wish I could say the same about you," the heavier-set man walked into the room and made him jump. **You're too distracted. Training later.**_

_"Pardon?"_

_He sat down. "You know, all the criminal stuff. This place could use a little," he thought for a second. "How do I say this? It could use a little... nonexistence." He touched his beard, gazing at the new character sent to him. He knew the man underneath, but after what happened, he couldn't stand to be himself. Not to anybody._

_"Yeah, well I don't do that anymore. You'll just have to live with it," he snapped. **God knows I have to.**_

_He nodded. "Fair enough," he confirmed as he slid a file towards him. "But you could."_

_He furrowed his brow in confusion and slight interest. "How do you mean?"_

_He gestured to the file he previously slid. "Take a look."_

 

* * *

 

19:32, May 3rd, 2010.  
Yacht

"But don't you think-" She got interrupted by a metaphorical slap to the face and a literal gun pointed directly at her. "Woah, woah, woah," she said as she immediately flung her arms up, and a fearful expression gathered onto her face. She tittered, and the face of nervousness encompassed her. A breath separated anxious chuckles, and she tried to diffuse the suddenly increased danger of the situation. "Look, man. I admire your ambition. A-and your perseverance," she spoke with a desperate flaunt of hands in a flattering gesture, but not overly so. She threw her hands about in a coordinated movement of high-held adulation; partially in hopes it'll help get him to lower his weapon, and partially to hide the fact that she kept glancing around the mirrored room for any form of assistance. Unfortunately, the only gift she received from her begging eyes was an all-around view of her at the Vagabond's mercy. Her only audience were their many reflections. "I-is - is that... is that the right word? I don't..." She glanced down at her chest. "I..." she sighed. "Christ, this is going to drive me nuts." She lowered her arms to adjust the two necklaces she wore, one being a key that previously hid underneath her top.

The man brandished his gun. "What are you doing," he shouted, gesturing with his hand towards her own, watching her fingers fumble over the chains, spinning the rope until it was adjusted perfectly.

"It's a room full of mirrors; I can see my necklaces uneven and it's bothering the hell out of me," she answered, and the Vagabond was the embodiment of confusion. "I've just gotta..." she reached for her key-shaped pendant, only to be _rudely_ interrupted by another jab of a gun in her face.

"Hands up," he screamed at the brit.

She stammered, and cautiously slowed the movement of her hands. "I'm just... I'm just fixing my necklaces." She recieved no indication of allowance to move her hands, so she continued speaking. "Come on, you know I've got no weapons. You searched me. _Twice_." The long-haired man seemed to freeze with only his extended arm wielding a pistol very near her face as the reason she didn't go ahead and move.

His arm pulled back a little bit. _A subconscious move that suggests weakness, submission, or the act of allowing someone to do something_ , the woman analysed. She was very good at reading body language and mimicking it, and so she could tell before he even spoke that he was giving her permission. "Fine."

She muttered a 'thank you' as she grabbed the pendant and moved it to rest between her breasts to ensure it would not fall out of place again with movement due to her low cut dress. She adjusted her bra, as a woman typically does, especially when trying to confuse someone who doesn't wear bras _to_ adjust. She pushed the key further into her cleavage and mumbled a quiet 'sorry', and left her hand awkwardly there for another few seconds. She looked up at the man threatening her, and with a smirk, she winked and pulled a small tablet-looking object out from where she left the necklace and threw it at his face. It exploded into a burst of smoke, and the man was disoriented.

"What the-" he managed to blurt out before being interrupted by the woman's immediate action of yanking the gun out of his hand. She moved so quickly.

As the smoke cleared, he looked up to lay eyes on a person who held herself completely differently. In contrast to her previously cowering, jittery, fearful actions, she now held herself in a confidence that bordered on insanity. Her smirk and steady hand made him genuinely afraid for the first time in what seemed like years.

When the meeting first started, he thought she was just eye candy solely for certain types of 'persuasion'. A pretty face, a cute pixie cut, a short, black, form-fitting dress, and a british accent were all things he believed were meant for persuasive techniques, rather than only the fall back plan. He realised now she must have been some high level operative to some organisation. _MI6? CIA?_

"Ambition. Perseverance." She pivoted her wrist on each word. "Good qualities to have in a man," she continued. "But you know what I like the _most_ about you?"

It was his turn to raise his hands. He gathered a considerable amount of breath before speaking up in a steady tone that contrasted to how he felt. "What would that be, sweetheart?"

She hummed at his retort, and had almost a nice smiling face peering with tilted eyes at him. "How _stupid_ , how _gullible_ , and how _arrogant_ you are." She straightened her head and moved her eyebrows in such a fluid way that it seemed her facial expressions spoke it's own language. "And something new."

He hesitated. "What's that?" He waited in anticipation and aggravation. _How could I let myself be so weak?_ This woman had far too much on him. Hell, she was seeing him without his mask right now. That was a definite red flag.

Her face continued to speak synonymously with her voice. "I really rather enjoy the look of fear on your face." She grinned.

Vagabond frowned, a snarl fighting it's way to the surface.

He looked around the room to see if it'd calm him. Reflections left and right. _Stupid rich people and their strange fascination of mirrors._ He wished he never went into the heavily mirrored room, and he tried to focus on the wall between each. He was pissed at himself for actually being somewhat accurately portrayed by her words. 

"Fu-" he began to insult her, but it was almost as if she _knew_ what he was about to say.

She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Uh-uh," she cut him off. "Let's save the flirting for later, shall we?" She winked and pressed the gun further to his head. "Now tell me the codes, Ryan." _She knows my **name**. Definitely a red flag._

He refused to give them away. These codes were _the_ way to get into the largest criminal-producing safe house in the entire country, and the best way to get rid of it. He couldn't give it up that easily. He'd owe them his life if he hadn't already paid it off.

"Not a chance." He wasn't used to the one being intimidated and he wasn't going to stop trying to turn it around on her.

She sighed and shook her head. "James Ryan Haywood. Thirty years old, born December 6th, 1980. Favourite colour is blue." She sounded almost robotic. "You live in a world where your identity is hidden to the everyone. My team and I know it well, and we can give it away."

His eye twitched as he tried to pierce the woman with his vision.

"Listen Ryan," she shifted to her other leg and moved a hand down to her boot and pulled out a memory stick. "This drive right here contains a list of things I can do." She pressed a button and a projection of names followed. Ryan never saw technology like this except in movies, and here she was, just nonchalantly holding it. "I have a large number of ways to acquire the codes, but this, right here, is by far the easiest." She closed the drive and placed it back into her boot and stood to face him with a renewed threatening demeanour. She placed the end of her gun directly onto his forehead. "But it's just as easy to put a bullet in your brain, so I think it's in your best interest to tell me."

He paused, gathering every thought possible on the matter.

She grew impatient. He could tell she was about to go ahead and pull the trigger. "I can't tell you," he blurted out.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine."

"Wait!" He cried. _Too desperate_ , he thought to himself. "I can't tell you," he repeated. "Because I don't know them. But I can take you to where they are."

She looked at him, deciding on whether or not he was telling the truth. Ten seconds and ten different angles of the brit pointing a gun at him ensued, and a moment of tension immediately was relieved when she lowered her stolen weapon.

"Alright," she answered. "But if you try anything, you're a dead man," she threatened.

He nodded, and she kept the weapon on her, but surprisingly concealed. He began to walk out of the door, thankful to be rid of that _god-awful_ mirrored room. She followed close behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't mind the slight comedic approach I've included, but be aware the entire thing is not just humour (as you can probably tell from the first chapter). I'm sorry it took so long to update. I'm trying to keep on track, but I was sick for a very long while and I had and still have nasty writer's block. I was holding onto the next few chapters until I knew how to continue it, but I've kept you waiting for far too long. Sorry and thanks for reading!


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